Three Blind Mice and Other Stories

By Agatha Christie

Agatha Christie demonstrates her unparalleled mastery with Three Blind Mice and Other Stories—a classic compendium of mystery and suspense, crime and detection, whose title novella served as the basis for The Mousetrap, the longest running stage play in the history of the London theater.

A blinding snowstorm—and a homicidal maniac—traps a small party of friends in an isolated estate. Out of this deceptively simple setup, Agatha Christie fashioned one of her most ingenious puzzlers, which in turn would provide the basis for The Mousetrap, the longest-running play in history.

From this classic title novella to the deliciously clever gems on its tail (solved to perfection by Hercule Poirot and Miss Jane Marple), this rare collection of murder most foul showcases Christie at her inventive best, proving her reputation as "the champion deceiver of our time" (New York Times).

• Language: English
• Publisher: HarperCollins
• Release date: Aug 7, 2012
• ISBN: 9780062243980

Agatha Christie

Agatha Christie is the most widely published author of all time, outsold only by the Bible and Shakespeare. Her books have sold more than a billion copies in English and another billion in a hundred foreign languages. She died in 1976, after a prolific career spanning six decades.

Book preview

Three Blind Mice

and Other Stories

Epigraph

Three Blind Mice

Three Blind Mice

See how they run

See how they run

They all ran after the farmer’s wife

She cut off their tails with a carving knife

Did you ever see such a sight in your life

As

THREE BLIND MICE

Contents

Epigraph

  1   Three Blind Mice

  2   Strange Jest

  3   Tape Measure Murder

  4   The Case of the Perfect Maid

  5   The Case of the Caretaker

  6   The Third Floor Flat

  7   The Adventure of Johnnie Waverly

  8   Four and Twenty Blackbirds

  9   The Love Detectives

About the Author

The Agatha Christie Collection

Related Products

Copyright

About the Publisher

One

THREE BLIND MICE

It was very cold. The sky was dark and heavy with unshed snow.

A man in a dark overcoat, with his muffler pulled up round his face, and his hat pulled down over his eyes, came along Culver Street and went up the steps of number 74. He put his finger on the bell and heard it shrilling in the basement below.

Mrs. Casey, her hands busy in the sink, said bitterly, Drat that bell. Never any peace, there isn’t.

Wheezing a little, she toiled up the basement stairs and opened the door.

The man standing silhouetted against the lowering sky outside asked in a whisper, Mrs. Lyon?

Second floor, said Mrs. Casey. You can go on up. Does she expect you? The man slowly shook his head. Oh, well, go on up and knock.

She watched him as he went up the shabbily carpeted stairs. Afterward she said he gave her a funny feeling. But actually all she thought was that he must have a pretty bad cold only to be able to whisper like that—and no wonder with the weather what it was.

When the man got round the bend of the staircase he began to whistle softly. The tune he whistled was Three Blind Mice.

Molly Davis stepped back into the road and looked up at the newly painted board by the gate.

MONKSWELL MANOR

GUEST HOUSE

She nodded approval. It looked, it really did look, quite professional. Or, perhaps, one might say almost professional. The T of Guest House staggered uphill a little, and the end of Manor was slightly crowded, but on the whole Giles had made a wonderful job of it. Giles was really very clever. There were so many things that he could do. She was always making fresh discoveries about this husband of hers. He said so little about himself that it was only by degrees that she was finding out what a lot of varied talents he had. An ex-naval man was always a handy man, so people said.

Well, Giles would have need of all his talents in their new venture. Nobody could be more raw to the business of running a guest house than she and Giles. But it would be great fun. And it did solve the housing problem.

It had been Molly’s idea. When Aunt Katherine died, and the lawyers wrote to her and informed her that her aunt had left her Monkswell Manor, the natural reaction of the young couple had been to sell it. Giles had asked, What is it like? And Molly had replied, Oh, a big, rambling old house, full of stuffy, old-fashioned Victorian furniture. Rather a nice garden, but terribly overgrown since the war, because there’s been only one old gardener left.

So they had decided to put the house on the market, and keep just enough furniture to furnish a small cottage or flat for themselves.

But two difficulties arose at once. First, there weren’t any small cottages or flats to be found, and secondly, all the furniture was enormous.

Well said Molly, "we’ll just have to sell it all. I suppose it will sell?"

The solicitor assured them that nowadays anything would sell.

Very probably, he said, someone will buy it for a hotel or guesthouse in which case they might like to buy it with the furniture complete. Fortunately the house is in very good repair. The late Miss Emory had extensive repairs and modernizations done just before the war, and there has been very little deterioration. Oh, yes, it’s in good shape.

And it was then that Molly had had her idea.

Giles, she said, "why shouldn’t we run it as a guesthouse ourselves?"

At first her husband had scoffed at the idea, but Molly had persisted.

We needn’t take very many people—not at first. It’s an easy house to run—it’s got hot and cold water in the bedrooms and central heating and a gas cooker. And we can have hens and ducks and our own eggs, and vegetables.

Who’d do all the work—isn’t it very hard to get servants?

"Oh, we’d have to do the work. But wherever we lived we’d have to do that. A few extra people wouldn’t really mean much more to do. We’d probably get a woman to come in after a bit when we got properly started. If we had only five people, each paying seven guineas a week—" Molly departed into the realms of somewhat optimistic mental arithmetic.

And think, Giles, she ended, "it would be our own house. With our own things. As it is, it seems to me it will be years before we can ever find anywhere to live."

That, Giles admitted, was true. They had had so little time together since their hasty marriage, that they were both longing to settle down in a home.

So the great experiment was set under way. Advertisements were put in the local paper and in the Times, and various answers came.

And now, today, the first of the guests was to arrive. Giles had gone off early in the car to try and obtain some army wire netting that had been advertised as for sale on the other side of the county. Molly announced the necessity of walking to the village to make some last purchases.

The only thing that was wrong was the weather. For the last two days it had been bitterly cold, and now the snow was beginning to fall. Molly hurried up the drive, thick, feathery flakes falling on her waterproofed shoulders and bright curly hair. The weather forecasts had been lugubrious in the extreme. Heavy snowfall was to be expected.

She hoped anxiously that all the pipes wouldn’t freeze. It would be too bad if everything went wrong just as they started. She glanced at her watch. Past teatime. Would Giles have got back yet? Would he be wondering where she was?

I had to go to the village again for something I had forgotten, she would say. And he would laugh and say, More tins?

Tins were a joke between them. They were always on the lookout for tins of food. The larder was really quite nicely stocked now in case of emergencies.

And, Molly thought with a grimace as she looked up at the sky, it looked as though emergencies were going to present themselves very soon.

The house was empty. Giles was not back yet. Molly went first into the kitchen, then upstairs, going round the newly prepared bedrooms. Mrs. Boyle in the south room with the mahogany and the fourposter. Major Metcalf in the blue room with the oak. Mr. Wren in the east room with the bay window. All the rooms looked very nice—and what a blessing that Aunt Katherine had had such a splendid stock of linen. Molly patted a counterpane into place and went downstairs again. It was nearly dark. The house felt suddenly very quiet and empty. It was a lonely house, two miles from a village, two miles, as Molly put it, from anywhere.

She had often been alone in the house before—but she had never before been so conscious of being alone in it.

The snow beat in a soft flurry against the windowpanes. It made a whispery, uneasy sound. Supposing Giles couldn’t get back—supposing the snow was so thick that the car couldn’t get through? Supposing she had to stay alone here—stay alone for days, perhaps.

She looked round the kitchen—a big, comfortable kitchen that seemed to call for a big, comfortable cook presiding at the kitchen table, her jaws moving rhythmically as she ate rock cakes and drank black tea—she should be flanked by a tall, elderly parlormaid on one side and a round, rosy housemaid on the other, with a kitchenmaid at the other end of the table observing her betters with frightened eyes. And instead there was just herself, Molly Davis, playing a role that did not yet seem a very natural role to play. Her whole life, at the moment, seemed unreal—Giles seemed unreal. She was playing a part—just playing a part.

A shadow passed the window, and she jumped—a strange man was coming through the snow. She heard the rattle of the side door. The stranger stood there in the open doorway, shaking off snow, a strange man, walking into the empty house.

And then, suddenly, illusion fled.

Oh Giles, she cried, I’m so glad you’ve come!

"Hullo, sweetheart! What filthy weather! Lord, I’m frozen."

He stamped his feet and blew through his hands.

Automatically Molly picked up the coat that he had thrown in a Giles-like manner onto the oak chest. She put it on a hanger, taking out of the stuffed pockets a muffler, a newspaper, a ball of string, and the morning’s correspondence which he had shoved in pell mell. Moving into the kitchen, she laid down the articles on the dresser and put the kettle on the gas.

Did you get the netting? she asked. What ages you’ve been.

It wasn’t the right kind. Wouldn’t have been any good for us. I went on to another dump, but that wasn’t any good, either. What have you been doing with yourself? Nobody turned up yet, I suppose?

Mrs. Boyle isn’t coming till tomorrow, anyway.

Major Metcalf and Mr. Wren ought to be here today.

Major Metcalf sent a card to say he wouldn’t be here till tomorrow.

Then that leaves us and Mr. Wren for dinner. What do you think he’s like? Correct sort of retired civil servant is my idea.

No, I think he’s an artist.

In that case, said Giles, we’d better get a week’s rent in advance.

Oh, no, Giles, they bring luggage. If they don’t pay we hang on to their luggage.

And suppose their luggage is stones wrapped up in newspaper? The truth is, Molly, we don’t in the least know what we’re up against in this business. I hope they don’t spot what beginners we are.

Mrs. Boyle is sure to, said Molly. She’s that kind of woman.

How do you know? You haven’t seen her?

Molly turned away. She spread a newspaper on the table, fetched some cheese, and set to work to grate it.

What’s this? inquired her husband.

It’s going to be Welsh rarebit, Molly informed him. "Bread crumbs and mashed potatoes and just a teeny weeny bit of cheese to justify its name."

Aren’t you a clever cook? said her admiring husband.

"I wonder. I can do one thing at a time. It’s assembling them that needs so much practice. Breakfast is the worst."

Why?

Because it all happens at once—eggs and bacon and hot milk and coffee and toast. The milk boils over, or the toast burns, or the bacon frizzles, or the eggs go hard. You have to be as active as a scalded cat watching everything at once.

I shall have to creep down unobserved tomorrow morning and watch this scalded-cat impersonation.

The kettle’s boiling, said Molly. Shall we take the tray into the library and hear the wireless? It’s almost time for the news.

As we seem to be going to spend almost the whole of our time in the kitchen, we ought to have a wireless there, too.

"Yes. How nice kitchens are. I love this kitchen. I think it’s far and away the nicest room in the house. I like the dresser and the plates, and I simply love the lavish feeling that an absolutely enormous kitchen range gives you—though, of course, I’m thankful I haven’t got to cook on it."

I suppose a whole year’s fuel ration would go in one day.

Almost certainly, I should say. But think of the great joints that were roasted in it—sirloins of beef and saddles of mutton. Colossal copper preserving pans full of homemade strawberry jam with pounds and pounds of sugar going into it. What a lovely, comfortable age the Victorian age was. Look at the furniture upstairs, large and solid and rather ornate—but, oh!—the heavenly comfort of it, with lots of room for the clothes one used to have, and every drawer sliding in and out so easily. Do you remember that smart modern flat we were lent? Everything built in and sliding—only nothing slid—it always stuck. And the doors pushed shut—only they never stayed shut, or if they did shut they wouldn’t open.

Yes, that’s the worst of gadgets. If they don’t go right, you’re sunk.

Well, come on, let’s hear the news.

The news consisted mainly of grim warnings about the weather, the usual deadlock in foreign affairs, spirited bickerings in Parliament, and a murder in Culver Street, Paddington.

Ugh, said Molly, switching it off. "Nothing but misery. I’m not going to hear appeals for fuel economy all over again. What do they expect you to do, sit and freeze? I don’t think we ought to have tried to start a guesthouse in the winter. We ought to have waited until the spring. She added in a different tone of voice, I wonder what the woman was like who was murdered."

Mrs. Lyon?

Was that her name? I wonder who wanted to murder her and why.

Perhaps she had a fortune under the floorboards.

When it says the police are anxious to interview a man ‘seen in the vicinity’ does that mean he’s the murderer?

I think it’s usually that. Just a polite way of putting it.

The shrill note of a bell made them both jump.

That’s the front door, said Giles. Enter—a murderer, he added facetiously.

It would be, of course, in a play. Hurry up. It must be Mr. Wren. Now we shall see who’s right about him, you or me.

Mr. Wren and a flurry of snow came in together with a rush. All that Molly, standing in the library door, could see of the newcomer was his silhouette against the white world outside.

How alike, thought Molly, were all men in their livery of civilization. Dark overcoat, gray hat, muffler round the neck.

In another moment Giles had shut the front door against the elements, Mr. Wren was unwinding his muffler and casting down his suitcase and flinging off his hat—all, it seemed, at the same time, and also talking. He had a high-pitched, almost querulous voice and stood revealed in the light of the hall as a young man with a shock of light, sunburned hair and pale, restless eyes.

Too, too frightful, he was saying. The English winter at its worst—a reversion to Dickens—Scrooge and Tiny Tim and all that. One had to be so terribly hearty to stand up to it all. Don’t you think so? And I’ve had a terrible cross-country journey from Wales. Are you Mrs. Davis? But how delightful! Molly’s hand was seized in a quick, bony clasp. "Not at all as I’d imagined you. I’d pictured you, you know, as an Indian army general’s widow. Terrifically grim and memsahibish—and Benares whatnot—a real Victorian whatnot. Heavenly, simply heavenly—Have you got any wax flowers? Or birds of paradise? Oh, but I’m simply going to love this place. I was afraid, you know, it would be very Olde Worlde—very, very Manor House—failing the Benares brass, I mean. Instead, it’s marvelous—real Victorian bedrock respectability. Tell me, have you got one of those beautiful sideboards—mahogany—purple-plummy mahogany with great carved fruits?"

As a matter of fact, said Molly, rather breathless under this torrent of words, we have.

No! Can I see it? At once. In here?

His quickness was almost disconcerting. He had turned the handle of the dining-room door, and clicked on the light. Molly followed him in, conscious of Giles’s disapproving profile on her left.

Mr. Wren passed his long bony fingers over the rich carving of the massive sideboard with little cries of appreciation. Then he turned a reproachful glance upon his hostess.

No big mahogany dining table? All these little tables dotted about instead?

We thought people would prefer it that way, said Molly.

"Darling, of course you’re quite right. I was being carried away by my feeling for period. Of course, if you had the table, you’d have to have the right family round it. Stern, handsome father with a beard—prolific, faded mother, eleven children, a grim governess, and somebody called ‘poor Harriet’—the poor relation who acts as general helper and is very, very grateful for being given a good home. Look at that grate—think of the flames leaping up the chimney and blistering poor Harriet’s back."

I’ll take your suitcase upstairs, said Giles. East room?

Yes, said Molly.

Mr. Wren skipped out into the hall again as Giles went upstairs.

Has it got a four-poster with little chintz roses? he asked.

No, it hasn’t, said Giles and disappeared round the bend of the staircase.

I don’t believe your husband is going to like me, said Mr. Wren. What’s he been in? The navy?

Yes.

I thought so. They’re much less tolerant than the army and the air force. How long have you been married? Are you very much in love with him?

Perhaps you’d like to come up and see your room.

Yes, of course that was impertinent. But I did really want to know. I mean, it’s interesting, don’t you think, to know all about people? What they feel and think, I mean, not just who they are and what they do.

I suppose, said Molly in a demure voice, you are Mr. Wren?

The young man stopped short, clutched his hair in both hands and tugged at it.

Reviews for Three Blind Mice and Other Stories

[cbl_tn · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The title story in this collection is actually a novella, which later became the long-running play, The Mousetrap. I saw the stage production in London two or three times so there wasn't anything about the plot that surprised me. However, I noticed some new things about the characters and setting, such as the importance of post-WW II rationing in the story.Four of the remaining eight stories feature Miss Marple as the detective, three feature Hercule Poirot, and one features Mr. Satterthwaite and the mysterious Harley Quin. The Poirot story and the Harley Quin story had all been published prior to the first publication of this collection. All of the stories are mysteries, but they're not all murder mysteries. The stories are all typical of Christie's country house or village mysteries, and they would make a good introduction for readers who want to sample Christie's work before diving into one of her novels.

[arielfl · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

This is my second book of short stories for the Cool Down with AC read a long this summer. So far I am really liking the short stories and stand alone novels best. This book was one of my favorites in the reading challenge so far. This book includes the play, The Mouse Trap that has been transformed into the short story Three Blind Mice in this book. The Mouse Trap is the longest running play in England. The story uses one of Christie's most famous plot devices, strangers trapped in isolation with a killer as one by one people die. I could not figure out the killer for the life of me. I always get it wrong and Christie's cleverness amazes me every time. In addition to Three Blind mice there are several other short stories included. Other stories include:Strange Jest feature a cameo by Jane Helier last seen in The Tuesday Club Murders. In this story Miss Marple is recruited to help in a quest for treasure. The outcome of the treasure was just like in the Audrey Hepburn movie, Charade. The Tape Measure Murder is also a Miss Marple story. In this story a woman is found murdered and naturally the husband is the obvious suspect. Of course nothing is ever as it seems in a Christie story. The next Miss Marple story, The Case of the Perfect Maid uses a plot device seen in Tuesday Club Murders and the Clocks in which a person impersonates another in order to commit a crime. The final Miss Marple entry, The Case of the Caretaker is shortened version of an idea that was developed into the full length novel, Endless Night which is my all time favorite Christie. The Third Floor flat is a Hercule Poirot story in which he must solve the murder of a woman in her flat. It's an especially clever tale. The Adventure of Johnny Waverly is also a Hercule Poirot mystery reminiscent of the Lindberg kidnapping though of course with a Christie twist. This story is rare in that there is a happy ending to the crime.Four and Twenty Blackbirds is a Hercule Poirot short using the impersonation plot device earlier seen in the Marple story.The final short story is The Love Detectives which has Mr. Satterthwaite who was seen in Three Act Tragedy. The story is very much like the full length novel Murder at the Vicarage, the first book to feature Miss Marple. This is a story where the people who committed the murder are the obvious suspects, the mystery lies in why they would confess to the crime.For anyone who might be uninitiated with Agatha Christie novels as I was at the start of the summer should start with the short stories. I think they are like a sampler platter of Poirot and Marple guaranteed to whet the appetite for more of the Queen of Crime.

[smik_3 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This story is the basis for the West End play The Mouse Trap which had its first performance in 1952.From Wikipedia The play began life as a short radio play broadcast on 30 May 1947 called Three Blind Mice in honour of Queen Mary, the consort of King George V. The play had its origins in the real-life case of the death of a boy, Dennis O'Neill, who died while in the foster care of a Shropshire farmer and his wife in 1945. The play is based on a short story, itself based on the radio play, but Christie asked that the story not be published as long as it ran as a play in the West End of London. The short story has still not been published within the United Kingdom but it has appeared in the United States in the 1950 collection Three Blind Mice and Other Stories. When she wrote the play, Christie gave the rights to her grandson Matthew Prichard as a birthday present. In the United Kingdom, only one production of the play in addition to the West End production can be performed annually,[2] and under the contract terms of the play, no film adaptation can be produced until the West End production has been closed for at least six months.The story Three Blind Mice was written in 1947, and published in the US in 1950.The story is really a novella and the action slips past very quickly. Once the guest house becomes cut off by a snow storm, the tension builds and a murder takes place. There is a dramatic quality to the events, or is it just that I know that it is the basis of The Mouse Trap? One can imagine these events being played out on a stage.Following the tradition with The Mouse Trap there will be no revealing of how the plot works out here. For the record, I did work out who the murderer was.I am glad I read it.

[auntie0nanuuq · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Many of these stories were published in other anthologies so there may be duplication of reviews.

Three Blind Mice - Residents of a guest home are snowed in, among them is a murderer

Strange Jest - Marple: Two nephews Edward Rossiter and Charmain Stroud, promised by their Uncle to receive an inheritance, seem to have been left nothing in their uncle's will. Miss Marple intends to investigate

The Tape-Measure Murder - Marple: Mr. Spenlow's wife is murdered while he is visiting Miss Marple, yet he is a prime suspect

The Case of the Perfect Maid - Marple: A maid is fired for stealing, but how is it that her replacement is stealing as well?

The Case of the Caretaker - Marple: While bedridden, Miss Marple reads Dr Haycock's manuscript of an accident which turns out to be murder

The Third Floor Flat - Poirot: Four young people, accidentally locked out of their 4th floor flat, take the coal trolley up but end up accidentally in the 3rd floor flat and discover the body of a murdered woman

The Adventure of Johnny Waverly - Poirot: A family threatened with the kidnapping of their 3 year old son take every precaution to prevent the occurrence, unfortunately when the child is taken it becomes apparent that it is an "inside" job

Four-and-Twenty Blackbirds - Poirot: A man eats the same food at the same restaurant on the same day of the week for 20 years. On the day he changes his meal choice he is found dead.... how can that be?

The Love Detectives - Mr. Quinn: A messy love triangle, a murder, and the implication of the lovers has Mr. Quinn investigating (Mr. Quinn is another of Christie's detectives that I find to be a refreshing change from M. Poirot & Miss Marple)

[screamingbanshee · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I didn't realize that this was a re-read (way way back in high school when I swiped one of my grandmother's Agatha Christies off her shelf).

This is collection of short stories featuring Miss Marple, Hercule Poirot and Harley Quinn (only one story though but I never much liked him).

Again relived some of my favorites: The Third Floor Flat, The Adventure of Johnnie Waverly and Four and Twenty Blackbirds.

[readafew · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This book was an anthology of Agatha Christie's short stories. The first story from the title Three Blind Mice which was the longest one. This short story has been the longest continuous running play in London. The story is pretty good. Most of the rest of the stories are split evenly between Poirot and Miss Marple doing their things. The collection is capped off with one featuring Harley Quinn. Lots of fun quick stories to pass the time and a quick read overall. Very enjoyable.

[riverwillow · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

There are a couple of original plays in this collection, most notably 'The Mousetrap' - the longest running play in the West End, 'Witness for the Prosecution' and 'Verdict' as well as theatre adaptations of some novels, interesting as a read, but I find Christie's plays haven't stood the test of time as well as her novels.

[xicanti_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Nine of Agatha Christie's short stories. Miss Marple features most prominently, but Hercule Poirot and Harley Quinn also put in appearances.As far as Dame Agatha's short fiction collections go, this is a good one. It's a nice, tight anthology filled with the very best sort of mystery stories; that is, there are plenty of suspects, tons of clues, and some very satisfying denouements. Each piece is entertaining and cleverly plotted. If you're looking for an introduction to Agatha Christie, this could be a good place to start.A word of caution, though, for veteran Christie fans: all these stories are also available in other collections, so you may already be familiar with them. "Three Blind Mice" itself is a prose version of "The Mousetrap," one of Ms. Christie's popular plays.

[leslie398 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

I can see why this play enjoyed such a long run! Great take on the country home mystery, a new guest house (sort of like a bed & breakfast but serving all meals) opens one winter day, coincidentally when a blizzard is occurring. On the radio as the play opens is the news of a murder in London... I am a Christie fan but for some reason have never read this play before. It is very well done and she manages to make the audience suspect each person in turn and yet the guilty person is still a surprise! Sadly, it might not appeal to today's young people as the plot does depend on the murderer cutting the telephone wire to isolate the house even more -- the prevalence today of cell phones has made this whole subgenre of mysteries obsolete (or at least dependent on exotic circumstances).Note: I read this in the omnibus "The Mousetrap and Other Plays"

[nx74defiant · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Three Blind Mice Great classic - strangers trapped in an inn during a snow storm Strange Jest, The Tape-Measure Murder, The Case of the Perfect Maid, The Case of the Caretaker I wonder if this was the insparation for the later book Endless Night The Third Floor Flat The Adventure of Johnny Waverly Four and Twenty Black Birds The Love Detectives

[guiltlessreader · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I didn't realize that this was a re-read (way way back in high school when I swiped one of my grandmother's Agatha Christies off her shelf).

This is collection of short stories featuring Miss Marple, Hercule Poirot and Harley Quinn (only one story though but I never much liked him).

Again relived some of my favorites: The Third Floor Flat, The Adventure of Johnnie Waverly and Four and Twenty Blackbirds.

[victorianrose869 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

June 11, 2001 The MousetrapAgatha ChristieI REALLY enjoyed this story. It’s very short. It’s actually an adaptation, I believe, from the original play – never even written as a story. I enjoyed it so much that it made me start seriously craving a trip to London, so I could see it in person. It’s the longest-running play in history, I believe. I was so entranced by the idea of seeing it in person that I even went on a website for it, looking up dates and everything, and wishing ferociously that I could scrape up both the money and the courage to take a vacation to England. I remember talking to Steve on AIM about it, just wishing. Anyway, it’s one of my favorite scenarios, and one Christie is famous for: a bunch of strangers trapped together in an old house in the country, snowed in by a vicious blizzard. Somebody dies, and we have to figure out who did it. I don’t even remember now who did it. This was in a book in Grandpa’s Christie collection, and it was called “The Mousetrap and Other Stories”. I don’t know if I read any of the other stories; if I did, they didn’t leave an impression.

[deltaqueen50 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

The Mousetrap, a play by Agatha Christie opened in London’s West End in 1952 and has been running continuously since then. It has the longest first run of any play and has firmly established that Agatha Christie was not only a superb mystery writer but an excellent playwright as well.The setting is classic Christie, a group of people gather in a large country house cut off by a snow storm. To their horror they discover a murderer is in their midst. One by one their background and identities are established until it become obvious who the murderer is. The twist at the end has long been an open secret but was considered quite shocking when it was originally revealed.Plays are written as a visual art and so I would really love to see this one performed live. As it is I enjoyed The Mousetrap in much the same way as I enjoy Agatha Christie’s short stories, light and tasty but not quite the full meal deal that her novels are.

[bookconcierge · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

4.5****

This is a collection of short stories, the title story being the basis for The Mousetrap - the longest running play, ever. It’s a suspenseful tale of a group of strangers trapped in an English Manor House during a blizzard, with an obvious “homicidal maniac” among them. I was certain I had it figured out – twice (with two different culprits) – but Christie surprised me once again.

The rest of the stories are not quite as good as the title tale, but still show why Christie was named the Queen of Crime. Some of the them feature Miss Marple, whose keen observation of human nature frequently give her insight which the police overlook (but which they DO follow-up upon once she points these things out to them). A few of the stories feature Hercule Poirot, exercising his little grey cells, and astonishing the perpetrators as much as the police. All of the stories challenge the reader to figure out the puzzle before the story ends.

The entire collection can be read in one day (as I did), but would be great to have handy whenever you wanted a short fix of good mystery writing.